


I'll Miss More Than Your Beer

by willowoak_walker



Category: The Room Where It Happened (Podcast)
Genre: But probably not angst?, Gen, Platonic relationships are important y'all, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 08:36:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16740649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willowoak_walker/pseuds/willowoak_walker
Summary: In which Seshmir makes a point of maintaining relationships and is willing to handle potentially dangerous magical items.





	I'll Miss More Than Your Beer

“Hello,” Seshmir says to the guard at Mordan’s temple, “I’m Seshmir Narash. I don’t know if Orran Stonebrew will want to see me, but he left some things behind that he might want, and some things that probably shouldn’t be just sitting in an unlocked room.”

  
The guard looks at him dubiously, but says, “Come in, the temple is open to everyone.” Seshmir makes sure that Jenkins is watching his office before walking in.   
He lowers the bag with Orran’s armor to the floor and waits. 

  
Mordan isn’t his god, but it’s common politeness to give respects. Seshmir isn’t sure if praying for Orran’s comfort is polite, but …    
It’s definitely something Seshmir can’t give him, and Mordan might be able to.

  
He hears nothing in return, of course. Mordan isn’t his god. 

  
“I’m still mad at you,” Orran says from the doorway.

  
“Of course,” Seshmir says, turning to face him. “But I thought you probably wouldn’t want someone to pick up your armor and use it for something bad, and Michael didn’t want to be messing around with any magical artifacts.”

  
“He asked you to bring these?” Orran gestures to the bag at Seshmir’s feet. 

  
“You left the door unlocked,” Seshmir says. He shrugs. “I’m sure the temple of Mordan has some way of dealing with armor that isn’t needed anymore.”

  
“Yes,” Orran says. His eyes go unfocused for a moment. “You didn’t bring Jenkins.”

  
“Of course not,” Seshmir says. “He’s a fiend.” Orran looks at Seshmir for a long moment.

  
“You’ll think about it.”

  
“I already am.” Seshmir closes his eyes and puts a hand on his muzzle. He can’t do the flatface gesture of dragging it down. “He said he thought it mostly came from me.” Orran puts a heavy hand on his shoulder. 

  
“You’re not a demon, Seshmir.” 

  
“I know.” He tips his head up. “I still believe in Her, but I doubt … I doubt the intermediary.”

  
“You’re welcome in Mordan’s temple,” Orran says.

  
“Thank you.”

  
“You’ll have to fight me the next time you come by, though.” Orran almost laughs. “I’m still mad at you.” 

  
Orran might be good enough at reading dragonborn faces to catch Seshmir’s smile. “I’m glad you’re doing what’s right for you.”  He starts to turn away, but. He can’t leave this there. He turns back and reaches for Orran’s shoulder. It’s a bit of a stretch. “I will miss having you around, though.”

  
Orran laughs for real this time. “You’ll miss my beer.”

  
“I’ll miss more than that,” Seshmir says. He has to go now. Orran has healed him often enough to recognize when Seshmir is in pain. 

  
Orran doesn’t stop him. 

  
Seshmir doesn’t call Jenkins to him. 

  
Dragonborn can’t cry like flatfaces can. Seshmir usually doesn’t regret that.


End file.
